Yesterday I started therapy again. I had seen this particular therapist a few times before my mom went into the hospital and I just haven’t had the energy or inclination to go back until recently when I realized just how much trouble I was having processing the death of my mom. Blogging about it has helped but overall I have been feeling stuck in a mindset that wasn’t healthy. For example, a package arrived for my mom while she was in the hospital that still sits unopened. Every time I slip up and look at the box I think that I have to wait for my mom to come home to open it. This always triggers my grief and I end up curled up on the sofa sobbing. So I do my best to ignore the box that sits on a chair in the dining room. I realize it’s only been seven weeks since my mom passed away. I know I’m very early into the grieving process, whatever that means, but I’m so aware of becoming lost in my grief, of sinking into it and allowing myself to drown in this sadness that burbles just underneath the surface of my consciousness. I’m learning that getting through this loss is more than taking care of my physical self but my mental, psychological, and spiritual self as well. So I’m seeing a therapist again as part of my ongoing effort to make my way through this unknown journey.

I live with depression every day. It has been a part of me since college, a fat little fellow who sits on my shoulder and whispers lies in my ear constantly. Kind of like the whole devil on one shoulder and angel on the other. But for me I have a deaf ear so I can’t hear the angel whispering in my other ear. I don’t even know if I have one on that shoulder. Anyway, he is always there, always talking to me and I fight him every day. I fight his influence over my psyche. I fight against the things he wants me to do. Don’t blog, you don’t have enough people reading your work, and it’s a waste of time. Don’t write, no one’s ever going to read it and if they do they won’t take it seriously. And never talk about me. People don’t care. Everyone has problems they have to deal with, they don’t have time to deal with yours. People tell me to just “get over it” or my favorite “there are people in wheelchairs, your life isn’t that bad.” While that second sentiment is true, all hearing things like that does is devalue my feelings. And it makes me frustrated and angry. Until you walk a mile in my shoes, don’t judge me. Don’t think you know what I’m going through. And don’t think you can empathize unless you have gone through the same thing. February is a tough month for me. My father died on the 6th and my oldest sister died in late February 2016 so her 2nd anniversary is coming up. However, this year I’m feeling defiant in the face of my depression. So I’m going to keep blogging, I’m going to keep writing, and I’m going to talk about my depression on my blog because I know realistically that I’m not alone in this daily battle. I’m part of a community with millions of others who are living despite of their depression. And if I can embolden at least one other person to open up and talk about their depression and help them in some way it would make my struggle worth it.